


Not finished yet

by MelMey



Series: Enough [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU Empty Hearse, Aftermath of Torture, Assassination, Bombs, Crime Scenes, Hurt/Comfort, Parentlock, Retirement, Secret Intelligence Service | MI6, Sherlock Whump, Torture, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 21:32:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 16,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2667080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelMey/pseuds/MelMey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Both John and Sherlock have moved on after their unhappy reunion, leading very different lives, but a common enemy, some unexpected revelations and life threatening events force them back together. This is a sequel to my story "Not enough", it might be read as stand-alone as well (I hope). Not so sure about the genres.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everybody, so this is the sequel to “Not enough”, because as mentioned in my final notes to that one - I felt quite guilty about how that story ended. So in this Sherlock and John are forced a bit closer together again. I couldn’t keep them apart forever. I hope you will like it.  
> If you haven’t read “Not enough” it might be a bit difficult to understand certain elements of the story, although I tried to make it readable as a stand-alone story as well.  
> Since I only got myself a AO3 account now I post it here now, but it was already posted on FF some time ago. I made some very slight changes and correction, but it is basically the same story.  
> English isn't my mother tongue, so if you see any mistakes, please tell me. Other feedback is of course also very much appreciated.
> 
> Disclaimer: The usual. I don't own Sherlock, I just like it and borrowed those characters.

He watched it again and again, the pictures showing her with him. He couldn’t believe it. He wanted John to be happy, even after all that had happened. He wanted to see him happy. He closed the pictures and started to watch the video surveillance material of John Watson and his wife. He looks different, Sherlock thought. Older. Well, it has been nearly three years now. Three years since he had last really spoken to his former best friend. It was at John’s wedding. He had been invited to the wedding. That was awkward and it was something Sherlock hadn’t expected. After he came back from the dead, after two years of fighting Moriarty’s criminal network, the reunion with John was not exactly welcoming. It was rather violent and in the aftermath Sherlock had felt so lost he didn’t care if he lived or died and then he nearly died of a sepsis for real. And the few times they talked after those events both felt uneasy. Even now Sherlock felt shudders running through his body when he thought about it. So they didn’t part in a good way back then at the wedding, not in a big fight either, but definitely not in a good way. There was so much left unspoken between them, so much disappointment, so many regrets, so many unresolved issues. But neither of them wanted to address them and so they haven’t been in contact after the wedding.

He tried to shake off the thoughts of those awful weeks. That was the past. He had moved on. He was now working for the MI6, sometimes he was kind of loaned to the MI5 or he worked on joint missions. It was good work, mostly not boring. It kept his restless mind occupied and it got his adrenalin flowing. And John had moved on, as well. He had married, he was a father of a beautiful little daughter. He had a good job as a trauma surgeon at the St. Mary’s Hospital. His life was good, as far as Sherlock could tell.

There was only one problem. Sherlock would shatter John’s idyllic world. Again, he thought. Why hasn’t he seen it before, when he met Mary the first time, at that damn restaurant, on the day he came back from the dead. Well, yes, he was too distracted to reveal himself to John as not being dead and then he was confused by John attacking him thrice and by all the things that happened afterwards. And at the wedding? How could he not see it then? Her appearance screamed “liar” all over. Didn’t he see it or did he deliberately just ignore it, deleted that impression in a desperate attempt to distance himself from John, in order to not get involved. Sherlock has been to his mind palace a couple of times to find out how he was able to miss it or why he hasn’t told it John, but he just couldn’t find an answer to that question.

He huffed and rewound the video, taking a closer look at John again. How he smiled at his daughter, how he hugged his wife, his lying wife. Damn, Sherlock, concentrate. This will not work out well when you allow yourself to be distracted by sentiment. He got up and walked to the wall plastered with evidence. He was determined to find a solution. He would find out what Mary Watson, nee Morstan, or better Angelica Grace Richardson-Adair, was up to and what connected her to Sebastian Moran, Moriarty’s former second-in-command. He looked at the pictures displaying the blonde woman talking to the broad-shouldered ex-soldier. Why have the met, not only once, but twice in the last three months? This couldn’t be a pure coincidence. The universe was rarely so lazy.


	2. Chapter 2

John was in the middle of his shift when a nurse told him about an urgent phone call.

„John? It’s Greg.“ Lestrade said.

„Greg. I am at work.” John answered. “Why do you call me here? They pulled me out of a surgery. They said it was an emergency.”

“I need you at a crime scene.” Lestrade stated.

“That is a joke, isn’t it? I don’t do these things anymore. You know that.” John answered annoyed.

“Yes, I know.” Lestrade paused for a moment, searching for the right words. “But the victim has your name carved into his skin, all over his body.”

“What? Give me half an hour. Where are you?” John said already half way to the locker rooms.

“Leinster Garden. The empty houses.” Lestrade stated.

 

\-------------------------------

 

“Hi Greg.” John said nervously. He regularly met the DI, but usually at a pub, having a pint, watching football. But he hasn’t been to a crime scene for over five years now, not since Sherlock and Moriarty played their wicked game. Sherlock, oh no, he didn’t want to think about the man who once was his best friend. He had moved on, he tried to convince himself. But when Greg had called him, he immediately thought about Sherlock. This would be the kind of case he would have liked.

“Hi John, follow me please. The corpse is inside.” Greg led him into the house that was just a façade. Again Sherlock came to his mind. He was the one who told him about this unique place. John shook his head, wanting to get rid of those memories. Those were good memories, but they hurt, because he has lost his friend back then and it was all his fault.

A minute later he was standing in front of the body of a young man, splayed out across the small hallway, naked, except for some black boxer shorts. The name “John Watson” was carved into his skin in different sizes and different places, basically covering his whole body. John had to gulp.

“Let’s turn him around, so that you can see his face.” Greg said, clearly addressing the forensic officer who at once came closer and carefully turned the body around. “Do you know him?”

John looked at the face, angular, high cheekbones, black hair, slightly curly, very young. There was a certain resemblance to Sherlock Holmes, but only a very faint one. John shook his head. “I have no idea, never seen this guy before.”

“But you notice the resemblance, don’t you?” It was Sally Donovan speaking behind him.

“Yes, I guess it is obvious, isn’t it?” John said. “Have you contacted him?” He turned around and looked at Lestrade and Donovan.

“We tried. Seems like he still lives in the flat in Baker Street, but he wasn’t at home. Mrs. Hudson says he rarely is at home. We didn’t have his current mobile number, but we left a message with his brother and with Mrs. Hudson. So far no response.” Lestrade stated.

“If I wouldn’t know that he is dead I would say Moriarty wants to play another game with us.” John said, shuddering at the thought of the crazy psychopath who played with his life back then.

Donovan, Lestrade and John stood in the hallway, watching the forensic team searching for evidence.

“Let’s get outside and let them do their work.” Lestrade gestured them to the exit.

 

\--------------------------------

 

They were standing silently on the pavement in front of the fake house, just outside of the crime scene tape that was wrapped around the pillars in front of the entrance door. It was a cool spring evening, it was already dark. The streetlights in front of the house were broken and so only the faint light of the next streetlights threw some light on them. Lestrade was about to light himself a cigarette. Then everything happened very fast. A shot rang out and John felt himself been dragged to the ground at the same time, pulling over Lestrade and Donovan as well as he felt to the ground. A second later he stared into a face he knew so well but hadn’t seen for so long and he heard the familiar baritone.

“Are you okay? Keep down.” Sherlock growled. The next moment he turned around, firing several shots from a pistol into the direction of the house opposite. A faint scream could be heard  and somebody was running away. A second later Sherlock was up on his feet running into the same direction. “Call an ambulance.” He yelled on the way. On the street he stopped for a moment, aiming his gun at the man who had run away. He fired just one shot, then Sherlock continued to run.

Shell-shocked John froze in the position that Sherlock had just dragged him into.

“What was that?” He could hear Lestrade speak.

“Are you okay?” Donovan asked John. “That looks like blood. You have been hit.”

John finally was able to get out of his frozen state. He looked down at his torso, touching the dark gleaming liquid that was smeared all over his jacket. He looked at his hand, recognizing the liquid as blood indeed. But he didn’t feel any pain. No, he wasn’t hit, he realized. That wasn’t his blood.

He heard Donovan on her phone calling for an ambulance and Lestrade started to fuss about him.

“It isn’t my blood.” John said aloud. “It is not my blood. I am fine. I wasn’t hit.” The next moment he realized that that could only mean that Sherlock was hit when he pushed him out of the way of the bullet that obviously was meant to kill him.

“If it is not your blood.” Lestrade started, but he also realized the implication.

Donovan looked at the both men, who still sat down on the pavement.

“And now?” She asked.

John and Lestrade got up. They all looked into the direction that Sherlock had fired his gun just a moment ago and they all saw it simultaneously. There in the shadow, in front of the house opposite of them, there was a man spread on the pavement. They ran up to him. John knelt down, looking for a pulse, without much hope, seeing the amount of blood that covered the grey pavement.

“He is dead.” John stated flatly. He turned the body around, just to see at least three bullet wounds grazing the torso of the man.

“One day we’ll be standing around a body and Sherlock Holmes will be the one that put it there.” Donovan said quietly.

John got up and looked at her furiously. “But he just saved our lives.” John spat out.

“Yes, he did.” Lestrade intervened. “But where is he? And how did he know somebody would shoot at us? And what the hell is going on here?”

They took a look down the street, into the direction Sherlock had ran away and they all instantly saw the other body, probably 40 yards away. They got up and ran up to the body. John again knelt down.

“He is alive.” John told the other two. “The bullet had went through the shoulder. The lung might be winged as well.”

They could hear the ambulance coming closer.


	3. Chapter 3

They were back at Scotland Yard, confused and slightly shaken.

“I need to call my wife, she will be worried by now.” John said.

“We need to call Mycroft.” Lestrade stated. “He will know how to get in contact with Sherlock.”

“Shouldn’t we issue a search warrant?” Donovan asked. “He just shot somebody in cold blood.”

Lestrade gazed at Donovan angrily. “Donovan.” He exclaimed but stopped just as he opened the door to his office. There were two unknown men at his desk.

“Ah, Detective Inspector Lestrade, Sergeant Donovan and Captain Watson.” The older of the two men stated pleased. “Come in and close the door behind you.”

Lestrade was furious. “Who are you? What are you doing here? What are you doing at my computer?”

The older man just looked at him calmly for a moment before he started. He pulled out an identity card. “Agent Clayworth, MI5. We are here because of the case of the body found in Leinster Garden this evening. We are entitled to confiscate everything in regards of the case and everything that is connected to it. The case is no longer in the jurisdiction of Scotland Yard.”

“Mycroft.” John hissed. “That was fast.”

The older man just stared at him for a moment.

“We are also entitled to take you three along. You, Detective Inspector Lestrade and Sergeant Donovan, are from this moment on a unlimited loan from the Scotland Yard to the MI5 which subsequently will commit you to the MI6 as the MI6 is in command of this operation.” He handed each of the puzzled police officers a piece of paper and then turned towards John. “And you, Captain Watson, you have just been reactivated for military service and from this moment on are placed under the command of the MI6 as well.” He handed a piece of paper to John who stood there with an open mouth.

“You cannot do that.” John yelled. “I have been honorably discharged years ago.”

“We can do so. And we just did.” The man stated plainly. “Special circumstances require special procedures.”

A moment of silence followed the exchange.

“Let us go. My colleagues will wrap up things here. I am ordered to take you to the headquarter where the commanding officer is expecting you.” Agent Clayworth explained. “Give me your mobile phones. You will get them back once you signed the security agreements that will grant you the security level you will need to work on this case and gives us the possibility to charge you with high treason should you do something stupid.” He smiled at them with a sardonic grin.

“I need to call my wife and the hospital.” John tried to protest. “I can’t just disappear.”

“Trust us, we already took care of everything.”The man said.

“Mycroft.” John murmured bitterly on the way outside. He thought he had left this kind of manipulation and secretiveness behind him. And just as if he was reading John’s mind a sleek black car arrived in front of the Yard.

 

 

\--------------------------------

 

They were brought to the white SIS headquarters on the banks of the River Thames. John has been there once before, for a de-briefing after his second tour to Afghanistan. But now it evoked a total different feeling.

Once inside the three of them were ushered into a small windowless room. Agent Clayworth who had fetched them from the Yard disappeared. But just as John wanted to talk to Lestrade and Donovan about what just happened to them, a young woman, dressed in a smart, black suit entered the conference room. In her hands she held a manila folder.

“Good evening.” She said in a calm voice. “Please have a seat. These are the security agreements you have to sign.” She handed each of them a small pile of papers.

“And if we don’t?” Donovan asked provokingly.

The young woman just looked at her with a smirk. “You will have five minutes to read it. Not signing it is not an option.” She informed them. “The commanding officer for this operation will then pick you up and inform you about everything you need to know.”

“The commanding officer?” John asked. “You mean Mycroft Holmes, don’t you?”

The woman gave John a puzzled look. “No, Commander William Holmes is responsible for this operation. Read the agreement and sign it.” With that she was about to leave the conference room.

“William Holmes?” John asked.

“Is there one more Holmes?” Lestrade added.

“No.” They heard a deep baritone from the hallway and Sherlock appeared at the doorframe a second later.

“Commander Holmes.” The woman nearly stuttered, taking a step back, clearly intimidated by Sherlock’s appearance.

“I just wanted to make sure that our guests have arrived safely. Is the evidence from the Yard already here?” Sherlock asked her with a firm voice.

The woman nodded. “It is on the way to Con 5. Do you want us to sort it?”

“No, thanks, I will do that myself. Do find out if the interrogation of our suspect has brought up anything?” Sherlock asked.

“As far as I know the doctors at St. Mary’s think that he is not up for questioning yet.”

“Not up for questioning yet?” Sherlock couldn’t hide his anger. “I didn’t hit anything important. He isn’t badly injured. And why is he still at St. Mary’s? Prompt his relocation to our hospital and sent Hawkins over. I want results and I don’t care how he gets them.”

 “Yes, Sir.” The young woman nodded while John, Lestrade and Donovan exchanged aghast glances.

“If they are ready.” Sherlock gestured to John, Lestrade and Donovan “Lead them up to Con 5 once they signed the agreements.” With that Sherlock was about to leave.

“Sherlock!” John yelled. “What the hell is going on here?”

Sherlock turned around, gesturing the woman to leave. He stepped into the room and gazed at John.

“Is that really so hard to guess?” Sherlock asked softly. John wanted to say something but Sherlock shushed with a gesture. “I will explain everything in a moment. Sign the agreement and then we can talk.” He looked down at his black suit, opened the button to reveal a blood-stained white shirt.  “In the meantime I will change into something less blood-stained.” There was a hint of a smile on his face before it turned blank again.

John just stared at him, remembering that the blood on his own clothes was Sherlock’s blood.

“Are you okay?” John asked.

“Yes, it is just a grace.” Sherlock replied. “And you? I hope that is only my blood on your jacket.” Sherlock gestured to John’s stained jacket.

John just shook his head. “I am fine, not a scratch.”

“Good.” Sherlock was about to leave the room but turned around once more. “It is good to see you, John.” He turned his glance to Lestrade and Donovan. “And it is good to see you as well.” With that he left.


	4. Chapter 4

Five minutes later Lestrade, Donovan and John had signed the agreement. They were giving guest identification badge and were lead to another, bigger conference room. With maps attached to one of the walls, small pieces of paper pinned on all over the maps and more paper scattered all over the big table which stood in the middle of the room the room reminded John a little bit of their living room of Baker Street when Sherlock was in the middle of case. Just as those happy memories flooded John’s brain, Sherlock entered the room.

“There we are.” Sherlock smiled, standing in the doorway.

“Commander Holmes?” An older woman wanted to enter the room carrying a tray with tea and biscuits so Sherlock moved further into the room.

“So.” Lestrade smirked, stepping up to Sherlock, taking a closer look at the identification badge that was attached to the breast pocket of Sherlock’s suit. “Commander William Holmes, MI6, field agent. Interesting. Not Sherlock anymore?”

Sherlock smiled at the DI. “I only use that name in private circumstances. The name Sherlock Holmes is connected to a different live, to the past. I wanted to make a clear cut.” John flinched a bit when he heard that, thinking about the probable reasons for that decision. Sherlock continued as he recognized his friend’s reaction. “But you can still call me Sherlock. It is just that I didn’t want to use this name here. It was a fresh start.”

“So you are working for the MI6 now?” Lestrade inquired. “Was that the job you were talking about back then in the hospital?”

Sherlock still smiled at the DI which made Lestrade a little nervous. Sherlock took of his suit jacket and the gun holster he was wearing. He carefully placed the gun on the table. “Yes. I have been working for the MI6 and for the MI5 a couple of times before and Mycroft had offered me a job here years ago, but at that time I wasn’t interested. Besides the MI6 was quite useful during the two years when I was dismantling Moriarty’s network.” Sherlock stopped smiling, his voice became softer. “So after everything that has happened I thought it would be a good option and so far I like it.” He shrugged a little.

John wanted to say something, but in that moment the older woman knocked at the door and entered the room again. “Sorry to disturb you again, Commander, but your wife is on line 5.” She gestured to the blinking phone in the middle of the conference table.

Sherlock sighted and murmured “Mycroft” before he went over to the table to pick up the phone under the bewildered glances of John, Lestrade and Donovan who followed his movements.

“Hi sunshine. … No, I am okay. … It is just a grace. … Did Mycroft call you? … It isn’t his business. Why did he have to tell you. … Of course I would have told you, but at the moment that isn’t a priority.” Sherlock spoke with a voice that was soft and agitated at the same time, frowning and smiling by turns. After a short moment were he obviously had to listen to what the person on the other side of the line said he spoke again, very soft and quiet. “Yes, I love you, too. Give Becky my love, tell her I will be there soon. I hope.” With that he replaced the receiver and was lost in thought for a moment.

“You are married?” Donovan asked doubtfully.

Sherlock glared at her. “Yes.” He plied curtly.

“And who is Becky?” John asked, already anticipating the answer.

“Becky.” Sherlock smiled broadly. “Rebecca, to be precise, Rebecca is my daughter.”

Lestrade, Donovan and John gaped at Sherlock with their mouths open.

“Now that we have clarified that, let’s move on to the important stuff. After all this isn’t a happy school reunion. There is work to do.” Sherlock has regained his professional posture and his voice became lower and firmer with every word.

“Sit down please. This is going to be a rather long story.” Sherlock sighed while pulling the laptop closer to him. At the free wall a screen was lowered and the picture of a man was projected on it. Dark hair, dark green eyes and a tough and merciless face.

“That is Sebastian Moran.” Sherlock told them. “He was Moriarty’s second-in-command. And his lover apparently, well at least one of them. He once was a sniper with the British army but was dishonorably discharged eleven years ago. He was supposed to be put on trial for misconduct. He had a little side business involving drugs during his army times. He fled and wasn’t seen for years. He somehow ended up with Moriarty. And now he has his own criminal network, working for everyone who is willing to pay. Assassinations, bombs, drugs, kidnapping - whatever you want.”

“But” John interrupted him. “Didn’t you dismantle Moriarty’s network? When you came back, you said you were successful.”

Sherlock looked at John, biting his lower lip. “Yes.” Sherlock said quietly. “I thought so.”

“You thought so.” Lestrade inquired. “And you missed Moriarty’s second in-command?”

Sherlock said nothing for a moment. “He was the last piece of the puzzle.” He stopped for another moment.

“So you missed him.” Sally talked now. “The great Sherlock Holmes missed the most important part of the criminal net? How could that happen?”

Sherlock looked at them all. “He was in Serbia.”

“Serbia. Is that an excuse? What does that mean? Didn’t you go all around the world to catch those connected to Moriarty?” It was Sally speaking again, her voice mocking and agitated.

“Sally, stop it.” John said. The moment Sherlock had said Serbia John knew why Sherlock was so reluctant to talk about it, so John decided he will bring it up. “That is where you were.” John hesitated to finish the sentence.

“Where I was captured. Yes.” Sherlock finished the sentence for him.

“You were captured?” Sally exclaimed horrified.

“Yes. And he was there.” Sherlock stated plainly.

“He was there and he didn’t kill you?” Lestrade asked.

“He wasn’t there from the beginning.” Sherlock explained. “He only arrived on the scene a day before Mycroft got me out. At that time I had already given away my MI6 code name and so they thought that I was a British spy. They didn’t connect me with what happened to Moriarty’s network. Moran came very close once, but I wasn’t really readily identifiable at that time anymore or he didn’t consider me close enough. I don’t know.”

The implication of that statement forced a shudder through John’s body.

“When Mycroft got me out, a team of his men blew up the whole place.” Sherlock continued. “We were sure that Moran died there.”

“But you didn’t identify his dead body?” Sally asked.

“No, well I wouldn’t have been able to do so anyway as I was already on the way back to London. And it isn’t like Mycroft could have asked the local authorities for the bodies as the whole operation was executed without asking for permission. There wasn’t and there isn’t really a friendly relationship between Britain and Serbia.” Sherlock paused for a moment. “The reason we believed that he was among those killed is quite simple the fact that he was seen inside the building shortly before the team ignited the explosives and then nobody heard anything of him for two years.”

John, Lestrade and Donovan looked at Sherlock expectantly.

Sherlock sighed once more. “Ten month ago we had the first sighting linking him to an assassinations and shortly after that rumors spread that he resurrected whatever was left of Moriarty’s old network. He gathered old and new acquaintances in order to build a new network of – let say – service providers of all kind of criminal activities.”

“Whose assassination?” Lestrade asked.

“Not your security level” Sherlock replied curtly. “And it doesn’t matter anyway.”

After a short pause, like he needed think about what to say next, Sherlock continued. “Five months ago I met him. I had followed a trail and finally found him in Buenos Aires.”

“And then?” John asked impatiently.

“We had an encounter – funny enough – on the fifth floor roof top of a hospital.” Sherlock snorted, but put a blank expression on his face after noticing John’s and Lestrade’s appalled expression. “Well, it ended with both of us shooting at each other. He fell down the roof, but obviously survived as he send me a clear-cut message only a month later.”

“He survived a fall from a five-storey building?” Donovan asked doubtfully.

Sherlock smirked. “Well, the trick is not to hid the ground.” John’s look displayed distress and so Sherlock hurried up with his story. “Whatever. He sent me a message.”

“What kind of message?” Lestrade demands.

“A video making clear that I am his next target.” Sherlock said.

“A video?” John and Donovan both exclaimed simultaneously.

Sherlock bit his lower lip again, waiting. But he realized that they would want to see it anyway and that he wanted to be honest with them so he opened the file on the computer and pressed play. The screen showed a half-naked man with long matted, curly hair, chained up in a dark and damp cellar room, sweating, being tortured with an electric cattle prod and beaten up by two men, but he didn’t scream. Just when one of the tormentors came up with a whip and started to whip his back furiously it obviously became too much to bear and the screams filled the room together with the laughs of the two tormentors. They went on until the captive clearly loosed his consciousness, blood dripping from his back, hanging limp in the chains. The video was about fifteen minutes long and as it stopped Sherlock said with a tight voice. “This was the first one.” He was about to open the second file.

“He sent you an video of somebody been tortured?” Donovan asked confused.

Sherlock looked at her first, then glanced over to John and Lestrade. “Not just somebody.” Then he pressed play to the second file.

The figure of Moran appeared on the screen, a whip in his hand that he lazily whirred through the air. He smiled. “That was just a prelude, Sherlock Holmes. I will burn your heart out, literally. You will wish yourself back into that cell in Serbia once I get started on you. And you will beg me to kill you.” Moran whirred the whip more violently through the air. The cracking noise of the whip was the only thing one could hears. Then the screen went black.

Sherlock did not look up, pretended to look at the papers in front of him. He could hear John gulp and could sense that they were all looking at him. He finally lifted his head, forcing himself to keep a blank face as he looked into their shocked faces.

“That was you.” Donovan stuttered “In that first video that was you.”

Sherlock nodded. “Yes. I knew they were filming everything but I thought the material was burnt in the explosion.”

“You.” Donovan stuttered again, clearly wanting to say something, but obviously unable to find the right words.

Lestrade opened his mouth a couple of times, clearly also wanting to say something.

“It’s okay.” Sherlock said. “I am alive, I am okay.” He quickly added as he saw that John wanted to intervene.

There was a silence that seemed to last for several minutes.

“So he wants you. He wants revenge. And if he gets you it will not be an easy death.” Lestrade summarized things up.

Sherlock snorted. “Yeah, I guess so.”

John seemed to be able to focus again. “So what about that guy in Leinster Garden and the guys shooting at us?”

“He wants to decoy me. He started staging different events, mostly shootings, but also bomb threats.” Sherlock stated. “And he obvious wanted to see if I still care for you, if he can use you to get me, just like Moriarty did in the past. That’s why you are here. I paid a high price when Moriarty played that card back then and I won’t let that happen again.”

“So we stay here while you go out there hunting him down alone.” John asked, clearly agitated.

Sherlock smiled at him. “No. That’s what he thinks I will do, but things have changed. I am working for the MI6 now. I have learned to value the means it can supply me with. And I realized that back then it would have been better if I had involved you at some point. Maybe things would have worked out differently.” He watched John and Lestrade as he delivered these well measured words. He saw the agreement in their faces and a hint of a smile in John’s face. He knew it would be vanished in a moment, but he also knew that there was no point in postpone inevitable.

 


	5. Chapter 5

„And there is one more reason for getting you involved.“ Sherlock started, pausing a moment. He knew he needed to say something before delivering the unbearable truth to John. “And John, I am truly sorry. I wish I could keep you safe from this. I would do anything.” He paused again seeing the question marks all over John’s face.

Sherlock opened another folder on the computer and clicked on the first picture in it. A picture showing Mary Watson and Sebastian Moran sitting in a small café appeared on the screen. They were clearly chatting and their hands were placed on the table, Mary had put her hand over his.

Sherlock didn’t look at the screen his gaze remained focused on John, who looked shocked and absolutely devastated and was starting to shake his head.

“That cannot be.” John said. “That cannot be. That is not her.”

“It is.” Sherlock said which brought John to look him in the eyes. “I am sorry. I was surprised as well.”

“But that is my wife.” John exclaimed frantic. “She is a nurse. She doesn’t know people like Moran.”

Lestrade and Donovan watched them both, not saying a word.

“Well.” Sherlock started. “She is your wife, but the rest.” He paused. “She isn’t a nurse and her name was never Mary Morstan. Her real name is Angelica Grace Richardson-Adair.”

John looked at him unbelievingly.

“She isn’t even English. She is American, was trained and worked for the CIA.” Sherlock continued.

“So she is a spy? Just like you?” Lestrade asked.

“No, not anymore anyway. And she wasn’t a spy in that sense. She was an assassin doing the dirty bits for the CIA. But she stopped working for them eight years ago, just disappeared for one year, before she resurfaced. She was connected to a number of plots and assassinations but never caught. Some of those events were connected to Moriarty.” John crumbled in his chair, but Sherlock continued. He wanted to get over this as fast as possible. “The last accounted sighting of Angelica Grace Richardson-Adair was three month before Moriarty shot himself on the roof of St. Barth’s. After that she disappeared. When I dismantled Moriarty’s network I came across her name several times. She was one of the snipers aiming at us at the pool back then.” He observed John taking in this information, his breathing ragged and his face displaying anger and despair. “But I never had a face connected to this name back then, so when I saw her with you in the restaurant when I came back I had no idea who she was.”

John tried to process all this information, but just didn’t know how to deal with it.

“When were those pictures taken?” John asked.

“This meetings with Moran – there was a second one – are the first sightings since her disappearance from the criminal scene. The first one was three month ago.” Sherlock opened up another folder on the computer and opened another picture showing Mary Watson and Moran in a park sitting together on a bench, again holding hands. “This one was last week.”

John gaped.

“I am sorry.” Sherlock said, looking at his friend. “Why don’t you take a rest for a moment. We have a room where you can lay down.” Sherlock instinctively reached out and placed his hand on John’s shoulder.

“Everything is a lie.” John said weakly. “I married that woman. God, I have a child with her. I can’t even be sure it is my child.”

“John, Elizabeth is your child. That isn’t a lie.” Sherlock said assuring.

“How would you know?” John yelled, looking at Sherlock angrily who removed his hand from John’s shoulder. But then John realized the implication of that assurance. “You tested my daughter?”

“Well, technically not me, but we needed to know.” Sherlock said calmly. “I am sorry. She is save by the way. An agent picked her up from the kindergarten.”

John watched him aghast, not saying a single word. The pointed silence stayed for minutes, John just glaring at Sherlock, Lestrade and Donovan watching them both.

“I need some fresh air and I want to see my daughter immediately.” John finally stated walking towards the door.

Sherlock got up and followed him. In the hallway he called an agent instructing her to lead John to the roof terrace and to get him his daughter. He didn’t follow, instead he went back to the conference room where Lestrade and Donovan still were gobsmacked by what they just had witnessed.

“Let’s go back to work.” Sherlock stated plainly.

So they started to go through the evidence that had arrived from the Yard. Lestrade and Donovan watched in awe as Sherlock took them trough the evidence already on the wall and added their sparse clues. They were shocked to see that Moran was linked to a couple of unsolved crimes. Every now and then an agent came in adding further hints. Sherlock always thanked them and gave out new orders what to do next. After an hour everything was sorted and Sherlock stood silently in front of the wall full of bits and pieces of paper and pictures. The older lady came in with fresh tea. As Sherlock thanked her and took a cup, Lestrade smiled at him.

“What?” Sherlock said annoyed.

“Nothing.” Lestrade smiled even broader.

Sherlock glared at him quizzically.

“It is just, I don’t think I have ever seen you saying so many thanks and apologies like you did today. And you seemed to be quite a good team leader as well.” Lestrade explained smiling.

Sherlock gazed at him for a while. “Well, things change.” He said simply. He didn’t notice that John has entered the room again so he continued with a deep breath. ”I have changed. I’ve been through hell and back and I wouldn’t have made it without the help of some people here. And when I was back I went through another kind of hell, but I survived that as well, again because there were people who helped me.” He shrugged and turned around just to notice John standing in the door frame.

“Better?” Sherlock asked in a low voice.

John took a deep breath. “No, not really, but I don’t really have a choice, or do I?”

Sherlock shook his head. “No, you don’t. Where is Elizabeth?”

“She is been taken care of.” John replied curtly. “So what do we do next?”

“Wait.” Lestrade said. Sherlock nodded. Yes, they had to wait for Moran and Mary to make their next move.


	6. Chapter 6

The next move came faster than expected. Bomb threats were arriving at the MI5, one bomb exploded in an old warehouse down at the Thames. That all seemed to be random. In addition, Scotland Yard had to deal with five killings happening at the same time with the same method, but in different places. Again, the victims and places seemed to be randomly chosen, but not to Sherlock.

As he pinned a new map to the other free wall in the conference room and placed little post-it notes to all those places. He knew there was a connection. The four of them were standing in front of the map, looking intensively at the signs.

“Maybe these are not connected to Moran at all.” Donovan stated tiredly.

“Yeah, it might only be an accident that all of this is happening today.” Lestrade added. He really needed to sleep.

“No.” Sherlock said. “There are no accidents in this game.”

“You consider this a game?” John said angrily.

Sherlock tore his look away from the wall to face John.

“No, John. I don’t. But Moran does.” Sherlock stated decidedly. “Those people killed are killed because he sees them as a means to an end and the end is to get me out. Like Moriarty he doesn’t care for them.”

“But you care?” John asked.

“Not in the sentimental way, no. We had this discussion in the past, didn’t we?” Sherlock said slightly irritated. Why did he have to go through this again. “It won’t help them if I care, so I definitely will not make that mistake. But I surely don’t want this to happen. These people died because he wants to get me and I hate it.” Sherlock gazed at John, waiting for an reaction. But John looked away, eyes focused on the map once more. Sherlock did the same, concentrating at the connection that still eluded him. But then, everything felt into place.

“I know it.” He yelled out. “I know it. I see the connection.”

“What is it?” Donovan asked.

“These are all places connected to cases I solved during my time with you, John. The house where the woman in pink was found. The National Antiquities Museum where Soo Lin worked. All the place where Moriarty stripped bombs to those people. The house where the speckled blonde was found. The sweet factory where we found the kidnapped children. Moran knew that I would see that connection.” Sherlock told them excited.

“Okay, all these are connected to you, but what does he want you to do. Where is the trap?” John asked.

“I don’t know, yet.” Sherlock stated. “We can forget these killings. They were just done to attract attention. The bomb threats are the key.”

Silenced filled the room as Sherlock moved to the sofa placed in one corner of the room and lied down to think, pressing his hands under his chin in the prayer position. The other watched him, knowing that talking to him in this situation would be of no use at all. So they settled down and waited.

“It must be the National Antiquities Museum.” Sherlock stated after minutes of absence.

“Why?” John asked.

Just as Sherlock wanted to start explain his deduction to John his mobile phone signaled an incoming message. He looked at it and jumped up.

“No, no, no. How did he do it?” He grabbed his jacket and the gun from the table and ran out of the room, John, Lestrade and Donovan ran after him.

“What?” John yelled. “What is happening, Sherlock?”

But Sherlock was already yelling at the stuff sitting in the open space office close by while simultaneously typing a message on  his phone.

“Moran hacked himself in our phone system. He sent a fake message to my wife, telling her to meet me in front of the National Antiquities Museum. I need all teams to be there. It is a trap. There is no way I let him get Molly and Becky. And I want to know how he could send that message?”

“Molly?” John asked astounded.

But Sherlock didn’t answer he was already on the way to the elevators and so the three of them just followed him.

Once in the elevator he spoke. “What do you think who I am married to?” Sherlock asked facing John. “He is using her to get me. She was placed in a safe house with an agent by her side but he somehow managed to send her a message on her safe phone, a message that looked like it came from my phone.”

In the car park Sherlock ran to a car and they followed him. Nobody said a word until they arrived at the large square in front of the National Antiquities Museum.

“And now?” Lestrade asked.

Sherlock scanned the area, but couldn’t see Molly. “Take a look around. Be careful. We split.” And with that he walked of, just as two vans arrived, obviously agents who instantly started to search the area as well.

And then Sherlock saw Molly, Becky on her arms, standing in front of the museum with the agent beside her. He ran up to them, yelling “It is a trap.” And just as he was about reach her, several explosions rocked the square, one just at the fountain behind Sherlock threw him, Molly and the agent to the ground. They got up, dazed and confused. People screamed, smoke was everywhere.

“Are you okay, Molly?” He asked softly. “It is a trap. That message wasn’t from me. We have to leave right now.” Sherlock told Molly and the agent. He took his daughter from Molly’s arms and grabbed Molly’s hand in order to lead her back to his car.

”Okay.” She said bewildered, but in the same moment two shots rang out, one hitting the agent in the head, the other hitting Molly in the back. Sherlock was just able to catch her body. They felt to the ground and Sherlock was trying to keep his clearly frightened daughter from hitting the ground.

“Oh god, Molly.” He started searching for the wound. He instantly knew this was bad, really bad. There was an exit wound. He lung was surely shot through. He yelled for help, for an ambulance, for John and was surprised but glad as he saw that two paramedics were approaching him. It took him a second to realize that they couldn’t be real, as they were here way too fast . All his senses suddenly screamed - this is the trap. But just as he wanted to reach for his gun they were beside him and he felt the prick of a needle in his neck. Then his world went black.

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock slowly woke up, his head was pounding. His senses just slowly started to work again. He could savor a bitter taste on his tongue. He felt cold, damp air on his skin and he was lying on a cold concrete floor. And he wasn’t really wearing much. They had left him in his boxer briefs and his socks, nothing else. He opened his eyes to the near darkness of the room. Only a faint glimmer of light got through a small slot at the top of what seemed to be the door. And then he saw her – Molly, lifelessly stretched out on an old mattress at the end of the windowless room. He wanted to rush to her, but trying to get up proved more difficult than expected as a wave of nausea and dizziness hit him and he had to sit back on the floor for a moment. He decided to crawl over to her, afraid of what he might discover when he reached her.

“Molly, please, don’t be dead.” He whispered.

He touched her cheeks and instantly noticed how cold her skin was. His hand moved to her neck, searching for a pulse, but there was none. He tried it at the wrist, knowing full well, that there couldn’t be a pulse either. He watched her chest for a moment but there was no movement. Molly was dead and as cold and pale as her skin was there would be no use in trying to resuscitate her. His hands moved over her body, tracing the wound he knew had to be there. He bit is lips, trying to remember what had happened, trying to process the information that Molly was dead. And then he remembered the explosion, how they tried to run away, how Molly was hit by the bullet, how he caught her, Becky in his arms, when she felt.

“Becky, oh god, where is she?” he whispered to himself, frantically looking around in the dark cell, but he was alone in the dark, alone with a dead Molly. He felt his head pounding again, the dizziness returned. He rested his head on his wife’s chest. He knew this was just the beginning of what they had planned for him, but he didn’t care about the future anymore. He slowly drifted away, unable and unwilling to keep himself conscious.

 

 

\---------------------------------

“There must be a trace.” Mycroft yelled at the team in the conference room of the MI6. “People don’t just disappear like that. Take another look at the CCTV material, be more observant, don’t just look for the obvious.”

Lestrade and John looked at the powerful man. They had never seen him this angry, this distraught, not even back then at the hospital when his brother was fighting for his life. They themselves felt helpless. They still looked a bit disheveled from the explosion. Donovan had to be taken to the hospital as she was quite close to one of the explosions and was hit by some debris. They all were there, but they were too far away from Sherlock and Molly to have witnessed anything. But they all knew that Moran must have gotten them and they all knew that meant nothing good.

“Let me call her.” John said calmly. “Maybe I can convince her to tell us where Moran is, where Sherlock is.”

Mycroft glared at John for a moment. “What makes you think that she will change sides?”

“Her daughter.” John said in a quiet voice.

“It can’t make things worse, can it?” Lestrade added.

“Okay.” Mycroft gave in and gestured an agent to hand John his mobile phone. “Turn it loud so we can hear it.”

John took a deep breath before he called her. The phone rang several times and he already thought that she might gotten rid of her old phone already, but then he heard her voice.

“I knew you would call.” Mary said softly and John could have sworn he could hear her smiling.

“Where are you?” He asked.

“Is that really what you want to know?” Mary answered mockingly.

“I want to know a lot of things, but right now I want to know where you are, where Moran is and where you keep Sherlock?” John said, his voice angry and threatening.

“What makes you think I would tell you?” Mary said calmly.

“If you ever felt anything for me and if you feel anything for our daughter, then you will tell me.” John stated, trying to keep his voice calm.

“Oh, John.” Mary chuckled quietly. “You always believe that there is something good in everybody, don’t you? The funny thing is you’ve probably seen more bad people than most other people in the world, you know full well what people are capable to do to other humans, but nevertheless you still hope for the good.”

John could feel his anger building up. He snorted. “Yes, I believe in the good, not in everybody, but in you. I saw you kiss and hug your daughter and I can’t believe that you faked the love I saw.”

“Oh, John.” This time Mary laughed loud. “Not everybody is such a bad actor like you are. You were always a means to an end. And everything we did was a means to an end. And that end is happening right now. This game has been planed long in advance and it is a perfect plan. So neither you nor the MI6 nor Sherlock’s stupid brother will be able to stop it.” She laughed once more and then she ended the call. 

John felt the urge to throw up as he realized how this woman had betrayed him.

 

\------------------------------------------

He knew it seconds after they had given him the injection. The pain was slowly creeping all over his body and it was excruciating, burning, like thousands of needles. It was everywhere, never seemed to end. He remembered this pain. He was five back then. Allodynia. Every touch, even the lightest touch caused pain. Every movement caused pain. It was the same now, only that they didn’t touch him lightly. He felt how one of his ribs cracked under the pressure of a hit, but that pain was nothing compared to the thousands stabs that ran through his skin at the same time. Even the cold metal of the table he was chained to induced pain. He wondered if they would realize that whatever the stuff was that they injected him caused this. He was sure they would be delighted.

As he painfully felt Mary’s hands on his body he tried desperately to hide the fact that those simple touches already evoked a stabbing pain. He saw that she attached cables to his wrists and legs. She told him that John had called her, thinking she would change sides. She laughed about that. He found it hard to listen to her words as the pain occupied his mind. He only caught bits of her explanation, about the people who will come, people he had annoyed and who are looking forward to have their go. Through the pain he could see her laughing at him, enjoying the prospect of seeing him suffer. He knew what would come next but no past experience of pain could have prepared him for this. The pain of the electric current seemed to be multiplied by the burning sensation that his wrecked nerves provoked in his skin, pain running up and down his body in a never ending circle. Just when the world started to fade into a black nothingness he knew he would be grateful for every moment of unconsciousness that his body would provide for him. It would be the only peace for him for a long time.


	8. Chapter 8

Two weeks passed without the slightest trace. The CCTV material really didn’t produce anything relevant. It was watched so many times, but Moran was clever enough to use a number of similar vans to blur his tracks and at some point all of these vans vanished into one of the few areas of London without all-encompassing CCTV surveillance. They were all sitting in the conference room, having decided to go over the current knowledge they had when a young agent came in.

“I have a new clue.” He proclaimed with a grievous voice. “We have caught someone who was part of Moriarty’s old network. He claims he knows where Moran holds Holmes captive. He wants a deal.”

“Very good.” Mycroft said, sounding relieved. “Where is it? We need to call the extraction team.” He got up, gesturing at Anthea.

“Well, he doesn’t exactly know the location, as Moran will only reveal it to those who have an appointment, shortly before said appointment. And there is something like a waiting list.” The agent interjected.

“A waiting list? Appointments?” John asked confused.

“He said, Moran contacted a number of Moriarty’s old acquaintances as well as people Holmes had gotten imprisoned in the past or whose businesses he had marred.” The agent stopped for a moment watching Mycroft looking at him expectantly. “He offered them revenge, told them they can do anything to Holmes as long as it doesn’t kill him. You have to make an appointment with Moran and there seemed to be a lot of people who want revenge so there is a waiting list.”

Mycroft’s face turned blank, John started to shiver. Lestrade gaped and Donovan put a hand to her open mouth. They all knew the implication of those words. Sherlock was being tortured while they were speaking.

 “Did this guy say anything if Sherlock is still alive?” Lestrade asked.

“He is sure that Holmes is still alive.” The agent paused. “He himself got an appointment, but it is two weeks from now.”

Mycroft regained his composure. “We have to find someone else, someone with an earlier appointment. We can’t wait two weeks.”

 

\-----------------------

 

They had to wait two weeks as all the power of the MI6 and the MI5  and the Scotland Yard couldn’t help them. They caught three other criminals connected to Sherlock, but while two of them had heard of Moran’s offer but were not interested, the other one had an appointment even later than the one already willing to make a deal.

Those two weeks were the most horrible ones in John’s live. After all he had experienced in Afghanistan, after Sherlock’s suicide, fake suicide that is, and after Sherlock’s return and the days sitting in that hospital nearly watching him die, knowing that it would have been his fault, he never thought that anything even worse than that could happen. But here he was, his wife a liar and killer, who just married him to take vengeance for Moriarty’s death. And she helped to capture Sherlock and over the last four weeks she surely helped torturing him. Today John would see her, he was somehow sure of that. He didn’t know how he would react to that and that frightened him.

 

\-----------------------------

 

When they entered the old factory building on the outskirts of London, John felt the damp air and he couldn’t stop shivering. The extraction team was up in the front, entering the main hall. Shots already rang out when John, Lestrade, Donovan and Mycroft followed them. John could just see how his wife felt to the ground, a bullet had hit her in the chest. There was an impulse to ran up to her, even to help, but then he saw Sherlock, chained to a table, electric cables attached to his body. He was pale except for dozens of bruises all over his body, his breathing was laborious and he seemed to sweat even in the cold air of the hall. John stopped, frozen by what he saw.

Moran was crouched behind the table, knowing that nobody would fire into his direction as a stray bullet could hit Sherlock. But he obviously couldn’t resist torturing Sherlock further as he leant over to the left side to grab what looked like a switch. Three bullets hit him just about the same time, but with his final breath he was still able to turn the switch, sending another electric current through Sherlock’s body, which convulsed fiercely and a painful and hoarse scream escaped Sherlock’s mouth. One agent from the extraction team jumped up to the table, grabbing the switch from Moran’s dead hands and turned it off.

Mycroft ran up to his brother, John followed him. They both tried immediately to free him from his chains. Dr. Nicholls and two paramedics who had just entered the hall as well were at the table at once when they heard the very weak and raspy voice of Sherlock.

“Don’t touch me.” Sherlock whispered, his voice and body shaking. He looked pleadingly at Mycroft, hoping his brother would deduce the meaning of those words.

Mycroft stared at him for a moment, but then he grasped what was going on. “Stop it. Everybody, stop it, don’t touch him.” 

John and the paramedics started to protest, but Mycroft shushed them with a single movement of his hand.

“The allodynia is back?” Mycroft asked softly. Sherlock was just able to nodded before he closed his eyes.

Dr. Nicholls realized instantly what that meant and instructed the paramedics before she moved closer to Sherlock. “We will inject morphine and we will sedate you. I can’t promise it will be enough, but we will do our best to make it bearable.” She said in a soothing voice. Sherlock nodded again before he tried to talk.

“Over there.” His head indicated to the small table at the right. “They used that.”

Mycroft walked around taking the small bottle and showed it to Dr. Nicholls who just nodded.

“Don’t worry, we know what to do.” She tried to reassure him.

It took the medical team quite some time sedate Sherlock who winced in pain at every even so slightest touch. When he was finally unconscious they carefully freed him from the chains and lifted him from the table to the gurney.

While the extraction team took care of the criminals John tried his best not to watch over at his wounded wife. Instead he looked at Sherlock, who was painfully thin, covered not only with bruises but also with dozens of small cuts. Nothing looked two serious, but overall he was in an awful state. And John who just heard the word allodynia shuttered by the implications of that word. He had only seen a few patients with that diagnosis in his medial career, but all of them suffered profoundly by even the lightest touch. He didn’t want to image what kind of pain the hits and cuts would have caused Sherlock.

“Allodynia?” John asked Mycroft as they both followed the paramedics as the carried Sherlock to the waiting ambulance. Mycroft just nodded, his worried eyes never leaving Sherlock’s lifeless, pale body.

“How did you know?“ John asked.

Mycroft still focused with his eyes on his brother answered. “He has experienced it before.”

Sherlock was heaved into the ambulance and Mycroft and Dr. Nicholls followed. Mycroft turned around to address John. “We will be at the same hospital. You know where it is.”


	9. Chapter 9

An hour later Lestrade and John entered the hospital that brought back some unpleasant memory. When they came here for the first time Sherlock was fighting for his life and John and Lestrade knew back then that it was partly their fault. Today was different, but not less disturbing. They walked up to the reception and were then led to a waiting room at the second floor where a worried Mycroft was pacing up and down while Anthea tried to calm him down.

“Any news?” Lestrade asked.

Mycroft turned around. “No, we are still waiting.”

Lestrade and John sat down, while Mycroft kept on pacing up and down. They didn’t have to wait too long. After ten minutes two women in white coats entered the waiting room.

“He is alive and it doesn’t look too bad.” The taller of the two, Dr. Nicholls, said sensing that Mycroft was about to ask. “Not too bad is of course relative, but there are no life threatening injuries. He has six cracked ribs as well some fractures in his wrists bones and quite a number of bruises, but he has no internal bleedings or alike. He also has a minor cardia dysrhythmia, but we are so far able to deal with those with medication alone. He also has pneumonia but his blood tests reveal that they already have treated him with antibiotics.“

“The main problems are neurological.” The second doctor stepped in. “We cannot estimate the nerve damages in his current state, but after what we know what they have done to him it is highly unlikely that there isn’t any. Plus, the drug they were given him cause his allodynia to come back. We kept him sedated so far and will so at least over the next two days. From his medical files we now that his allodynia doesn’t respond too well to most pain medication, so we want to give his body some time to rest. We will also try to filter the drug out of his blood, hoping that it will help.”

“Hoping?” Mycroft asked.

“Hoping, yes, but it is a hope that is based on knowledge. The drug they used is well known. It enhances pain and we know that it has been used to torture people in the past. Some countries have used it in the 50s and 60s. We know that you can diminish its impact by dialyses. Even when we don’t know how much and how often they injected it, the dialyses will diminish the impact significantly.”

Mycroft just nodded, satisfied with that explanation.

“You can visit him as soon as we will have him transferred to his room.” Dr. Nicholls said. “A nurse will pick you up. And you know it already, but I rather say it again. Don’t touch him. We have him on a mix of a high dose of pain medication and a strong sedative, but that doesn’t mean that the allodynia is gone or that he doesn’t feel the pain.”

The two doctors left. Mycroft finally sat down and took a deep breath.

“Allodynia?” Lestrade asked. He didn’t dare to ask the doctors as everybody around him seemed to know what they were talking about.

“It is a neurological condition.” John started to explain. “People with allodynia suffer from pain that is caused by things which would not normally provoke pain, like a light touch of the skin.”

Lestrade looked at him horrified. “And Sherlock had that before? Did I got that right?”

John looked at Mycroft, hoping he would elaborate, but he didn’t say a word so John answered. “Seems so, but I didn’t know that.”

Mycroft sighed. “Yes, the first time when he was a child, he was five back then. He had episodes quite regularly until he was thirteen. Why do you think he despises hospitals that much and doesn’t like to be touched?”

“And what triggered the allodynia back then?” John asked

“They never found out. It just vanished when he was thirteen, after that he only had a very few isolated episodes.” Mycroft answered.

 “That explains a lot.” John said. “But he never told me about that.”

Mycroft snorted again. “He hated it, saw it as a weakness. He hated his weaknesses, didn’t want anybody to know about it.”

“When was the last time it happened?” John asked.

“As far as I know when he finished university. I only got to know much later when I forced him into rehab for his substance abuse.” Mycroft said.

“So he took drugs to deal with an allodynia episode?” John inquired.

“Yes and no. I am not quite sure. There certainly is a connection, but it was for sure not the only reason.” Mycroft tried to explain. He looked tired and worried.

They waited in silence until the nurse came to lead them to Sherlock’s room.

 

\--------------------------------

The next three days past in a blur. They were taking turns to keep vigil at Sherlock’s bed. Mrs. Hudson was informed and very shocked but also came every day.

Meanwhile at the old factory a team that searched for evidence found the body of Molly Hooper-Holmes, buried only a few inches beneath the surface.  


	10. Chapter 10

Sherlock woke up, but he didn’t dare to open his eyes, too afraid to wake up in the damp and dark cellar room again, too afraid that his rescue was just a dream. But he soon noticed that something was different, he felt strangely dizzy, but not uncomfortable and although there was still the creeping pain all over his body it was somehow subdued, not as piercing and burning as before, but rather far off in the background. He dared to open his eyes, the room was sparsely lit, the blinds of the windows closed, but he could see that it was a hospital room, white walls, a turned downed heart monitor close by, several cables and an IV drip attached to him. The room was warm, he felt that he was naked under the light silky sheet that covered his body, an obvious concession to his state as the weight of a normal hospital gown and blanket would have triggered further pain. He looked around just to notice his brother and John sitting side by side close to his hospital bed in what must be uncomfortable positions, yet they both managed to sleep and John even snored faintly. Sherlock smiled and tried to reach for his brother’s hand which rested on the edge of the bed, but even this tiny movement sent a stabbing pain through his body. He winced loud enough to wake up his brother.

“Your awake.” Mycroft stated, smiling before he noticed the painful expression on Sherlock’s face. “I’ll get a doctor.” His words woke up John as well.

Sherlock wanted to protest but Mycroft had already left the room.

“We are so happy to have you back.” John smiled.

Sherlock wanted to say something but just in that moment Mycroft came back with a small, chubby woman who introduced herself as Dr. Hannigan and his neurologist. Sherlock tried to deduce her as he instantly did with every person but the pain and the still lingering dizziness let him resolve to just listen to her. As expected they couldn’t increase the dose of the mixture of painkillers he already received. Mycroft tried to argue but gave up after a further explanation from her. Sherlock learned that they used a dialysis machine in order to get rid of all the residues of the pain enhancing drug they had given him and that besides the neuropathic pain he had a couple of cracked ribs as well some fractures in his wrists. She left and Mycroft settled down again.

“Did you find Molly? And Becky?” Sherlock asked with a raspy, low voice.

“I am so sorry.” John started but before he could say anything else Sherlock interrupted him.

“I know Molly is dead. She was dead right after the explosion. She has been hit by a bullet in the back. I caught her as she felt. When I woke up in that cellar they had put her body in the same room. They wanted me to see her. After the first session she was gone when I was returned to the cell.” Sherlock said, his voice shaking.

Mycroft looked at his brother. “We found her buried outside of the factory yesterday.”

“And Becky?” Sherlock asked, sadness thickening his voice.

Mycroft shook his head. “We are still looking.”

Sherlock closed his eyes and after a while he drifted off to sleep again.

 


	11. Chapter 11

“Sherlock, wake up, please.” John’s voice was close to him. “Please, I don’t want to touch you, but you have to wake up.”

Sherlock opened his eyes slowly, noticing the bright light of the neon ceiling lights, much to bright for his still drowsy brain.

“Sherlock, they found her.” John said with a delighted voice. “Becky, she is alive. Mary had brought her to a small hospital outside of London, well left her in front of the entrance door in the middle of the night. But she is okay, just a few scratches and very frightened, but she is alive.”

Sherlock just looked at John with unbelieving eyes. Over the past days he had given up all hope. He was so sure that his daughter was dead, killed by these monsters. The idea that Mary could have had a heart and spared her life was absurd seeing what pleasure she took in torturing him. But he was wrong and for the very first time in his life he was so glad to be wrong.

“She is on the way. Mycroft and Anthea are on their way to pick her up. They will be here soon.” John added.

Sherlock wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what. Both men didn’t say anything for a while, listening to the noise from the hallway, waiting for Mycroft and Anthea to arrive with the girl.

“I will not be able to hold her.” Sherlock suddenly said, remembering that even with the pain medication he was receiving he would not be able to endure the touch and much less the pressure of a hug even if it was from his scared daughter.

“I will be here. They will already told her that you are ill. And we organized a child bed to be put in this room, close to yours.” John tried to reassure Sherlock. “We will explain to her that she needs to be careful.“

Sherlock nodded and waited. A minute later Mycroft and Anthea arrived, Anthea carrying a sleeping Becky in her arms. She carefully placed the little girl beside Sherlock. He winced when Anthea accidently brushed his arm while doing so.

“Sorry.” She whispered.

“It’s okay.” Sherlock smiled while he tried to lightly touch his daughter cheeks with his fingertips, but as expected this caused another burning pain running from his fingertips up to his arm. He flinched and sighed. Right now he had to content himself with watching his girl breathing evenly while she slept.

“Will you stay with me, in case she moves?” Sherlock whispered, clearly addressing his brother, Anthea and John, but not moving his eyes from the small body besides him, taking in all aspects, noticing the already healed scratches on her arms.

“Yes, of course.” Mycroft said softly, walking to the light switch to turn of the bright ceiling lamps. Only the soft yellow glow of the night light illuminated the room.

“We all will.” John added. Then they settled down in their chairs, watching as Sherlock felt asleep beside his daughter.


	12. Chapter 12

The light of the streetlamps dimly lit the hospital room. It was in the middle of the night, but Sherlock was still awake, not because of the pain. The pain was tolerable at the moment, it had decreased evenly over the last few days. It was still there, but there was hope as Dr. Hannigan has put it. The neurologist was somewhat sure that the allodynia would fade away once the residues of the pain enhancer were finally gone. But there was a high probability that there were some lasting damages and the allodynia might resurface again. Sherlock had listened to her explanation, noticed her insecurity, deduced her wish to comfort him, to give him hope. He saw Mycroft listening to her explanations and how he desperately tried to hide his despair and his concern. He didn’t know what to do with all these information. He knew he would need time in his mind palace to process it all, but with visitors, nurses and doctors meddling with him all day and Becky needing his attention he only found the time to do that in the night. So now he thought about it all. He came to the conclusion that he would be able to live with all physical health issues that would remain. He had to, looking at the little girl that was soundly sleeping in the bed besides him, he knew that there was no other option. And that little girl also was key to the decision that formed in his mind. It was a big decision with far-reaching implications for him and the people around him, but making it felt so easy that he was instantly sure that it was the right choice. With that he felt asleep. He would talk about it with Mycroft next time he came by.

Sherlock had to wait a whole day for Mycroft to visit him, but he definitely had to be the first to talk about his decision. Mycroft came by only late in the evening when all the activities around Sherlock had finally faded away.

“You want to talk about something.” Mycroft deduced right after entering the room.

Sherlock smiled at his brother deduction skills. “Yes”

Mycroft sat down on the chair close to his brothers bed. “Go on then.”

“I need to die.” Sherlock stated plainly.

“What?” Mycroft said shocked. “Didn’t you listen to Dr. Hannigan yesterday. Things will become better. And what about Becky?” Mycroft took a worried look at the small girl sleeping in her bed.

Sherlock shook his head. “No, not that way.” He smiled when he saw that Mycroft realized what he meant.

“Oh, you mean the great Sherlock Holmes needs to die.” Mycroft said and visibly relaxed. “And then?”

“Then? I will retire. Somewhere to the countryside, keeping bees. I need a place for Becky to grow up in peace.” Sherlock explained. “And just to answer the question that is on your mind. Yes, I thought about giving her away, finding her a family that will care for her, a family with a mother and a father. I thought about that. I never wanted a family. I never wanted to be a father. But I am. When John told me that you had found her, that she was alive and when you came in with her. I was so sure that I had not only lost Molly but her as well, but then when I saw her, I knew I was a father and I was so happy. And when I wasn’t able to hold her close and comfort her because of the pain that hurt so much, because all I wanted was to hold her and soothe her, give her the feeling that everything will be okay. So yes, I thought about giving her away, but no, I cannot. I know it might be selfish, but want to see her growing up. I want to be her father, not from a distant, but by her side.”

Mycroft had listened to his brother’s explanation quietly. Now he nodded, seeing the sincerity in his brother’s expression.

“So we need to let you die, find you a new identity and a home.” He stated businesslike.

“Yes, please.” Sherlock smiled.

“Any preferences?” Mycroft asked.

“Well, explaining my death will be easy. And I am a widower, so that would be a natural cover.” Sherlock started. “And I like Sussex Downs. I need a house with a garden, because of the bees.” He smiled. “And of course there should be a good preparatory school close by.”

Mycroft just nodded. There was a moment of silence.

“And who do you want it to know?” Mycroft asked.

Sherlock nodded. He had thought about that, too. He couldn’t do it like the last time when he faked his suicide.

“John, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade need to know. I don’t want to hurt them once more and I know they will understand and keep my secret safe. I will tell them tomorrow.”

Mycroft nodded, reaching out his hand to hold his brother’s hand, but stopping at the last moment, remembering that it would still cause him pain. So he rested his hand just beside it. Sherlock watched the movement and carefully placed his own hand on his brother’s hand. They stayed that way, not speaking, just enjoying the comfortable silence.

 

\-----------------------------------

 

Sherlock was standing in front of the window, the silky white sheet carefully wrapped around his body. He was just looking out of the window. He could see some famous London buildings from his room and the view gave him a nice and comfortable feeling of being close to home. But they also gave him a notion about what he was going to lose today.

“Sherlock?” John’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “What are you doing there? Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“I was enjoying the view. And no, I am allowed to get up.” Sherlock answered without turning around. “Besides, pain coming only from the soles of my feet is a nice change.” He heard John sigh behind him, but he could sense that the last words probably shocked Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson who were also in the room. “I am fine, just let me stand here for a while. Please sit down. I need to talk to you.”

He heard them rustle in the background.

“No, not that chair, John. I’m gonna sit down there in a moment.” Sherlock said, again without moving around.

John had to smile at his friend’s ability to sense his movements. It was just a tiny glimpse of the old Sherlock and he just missed him terrible. Also Sherlock just wearing a sheet reminded him of a happy past.

“You look like back then when you went to Buckingham Palace just dressed in a sheet:” John chuckled.

Sherlock chuckled as well. “I wish I could bring back those times.” He sighed, still standing like a statue. “But that is the past.” He said firmly. “I wanted to talk with you about the future.” He waited a moment, sensing the anticipation. “I will die.” Hearing his friend outcry he turned around. “No, not that way, but Sherlock Holmes has to die.” He watched his friends as they realized what he meant.

“You want to disappear?” John asked.

Sherlock nodded. “I need to. I want to make sure that Becky will grow up safe. She already lost her mum. I will avoid everything that will pose a risk to her.” He carefully walked up to the soft wingchair in the corner, dragging the IV pole behind him. As he seated himself he was unable to avoid a wince as his movement caused him quite some pain.

“Still in pain?” John asked worried. “Have they reduced you pain medication?”

“Yes and no” Sherlock answered, taking some deep breaths, trying to regain his composure. Seeing the puzzled expressions of his friends he groaned. “Yes, still in pain, and no, they haven’t reduced my pain medication. It is better than it was, but the allodynia is still there. But it is getting better every day. I had longer episodes in the past, so I can live with this.” He added. “Back to the topic, please.”

“So you need to die in order to disappear. I guess Mycroft will arrange everything. So what does it mean? What will you do?” Lestrade inquired.

Sherlock nodded. “Well, Mycroft will arrange everything. I will move away from London and.” He paused for a moment, knowing the impact the following words would likely have. “This will be the last time we will see each other.” He waited for the reaction.

“What?” John cried out. Mrs. Hudson was shaking her head, Lestrade looked shocked.

“I will need to avoid anything and anyone connected to my past.” Sherlock stated quietly. “The risk is too high. There are too many people who would like to see me dead.” He snorted.” Do you know how many appointments they had made? How much longer they intended to keep me alive?” He looked at John and then at Lestrade, who both shook their heads. “Months.” Sherlock said with a shaky voice. “I survived, because they were quite careful not to cause to much damage. I survived because they had a long list of people who wanted to have fun torturing me.” He saw how Mrs. Hudson flinched and so he stopped. “After everything that has happened I want my girl to have a nice and carefree childhood. And I don’t want to worry all the time. Besides, even if things become better I will surely not regain the physical condition I had before.” He looked at them, waiting for them to process the news.

It was Mrs. Hudson who started to talk. “So what would you like to do today?” She tried to put on a cheery voice.

Sherlock smiled. He knew he would miss her and her optimistic spirit terrible. “Just let us sit here and talk about all the great things we experienced together.”


	13. Chapter 13

 

John had a strange feeling in his stomach the moment he got the envelope out of his postbox. He didn’t recognize the handwriting nor the sender on the back. William Scott, living in a village in Sussex. When he opened the envelope and a rather cheesy greeting card appeared. A convoluted “Congratulations” was accompanied by dozens of cute little cartoon bees. It wasn’t his birthday and he had no idea who would send him such an ugly card. That changed the moment he read the handwritten words inside.

“Come if convenient. If inconvenient, come anyway.

PS It isn’t dangerous. Bring your daughter along.”

Sherlock, he thought and he took another look at the address on the back of the envelope. A village in the countryside. John smiled.

Just then the nanny came in, Elizabeth sleeping on her arm.

“Hi John, she got herself exhausted by running around the playground playing tig all afternoon.” She smiled.

John carefully took his daughter and hold her close.

“Will you need my help on the weekend?” The young woman asked.

“No, thanks.” John replied. “I think we will take a trip to the countryside.”

 

\----------------------------------

 

The morning he packed some clothes for himself and his daughter, even though he wasn’t quite sure if the strange card could be equaled with an invitation to stay for the whole weekend. But something inside of him hoped so. He hasn’t seen Sherlock since that day in the hospital, when he said good bye. And he vividly remembered the days before that when Sherlock was barely alive, full of pain, looking at his daughter with sad eyes, unable to touch her and hold her close because of the pain. He knew of course that he was still alive. This time he was informed of the plan to proclaim Sherlock Holmes officially dead. He had hoped that Sherlock would contact him, but had given up hope after six month passed without a single sign.

Driving slowly it took John nearly two hours to arrive in the small village. With the help of some nice villagers he found the way to the address Sherlock has sent him. The small cottage was beyond the village, placed in a nice, blossomy garden. John parked the car in front of the cottage. An old Land Rower was parked in front as well. Just as John had freed Elizabeth from her kiddy seat he hesitated for a moment. What if the card wasn’t from Sherlock after all, but from another criminal who wanted revenge, John thought, fear rushing through his body. But then he spotted the familiar lanky figure standing in the doorway of the cottage, slightly stooped, avoiding to bump his head on low door frame of the old house.

“I was already waiting for you.” Sherlock teased with a broad smile.

“Did you?” John replied, also smiling as he walked up to the door.

“And you must be Elizabeth.” Sherlock greeted John’s daughter, who didn’t answer but just nodded.

“Lizzy. “John added, stroking his daughter dark blonde hair.

“Come in.” Sherlock said, gesturing John to follow him.

Just inside John heard Sherlock yell. “Becky? Our guest have arrived. I am sure Lizzy would like to see your bunnies”

“Bunnies?” John asked.

“Bunnies” Sherlock stated plainly. “One of them is called Bluebell by the way.” He smiled again.

“Does it glow in the dark?” John ask with a chuckle.

“No.” Sherlock chuckled as well. “No, too risky to cause havoc among the villagers. Although Becky would surely love to have a glowing rabbit.”

A small girl with long raven black curls appeared in the living room, eagerly jumping up and down. Just seconds later after a rather short exchange of names and greetings the two girls disappeared into the garden, chatting lively.

“Sit down. I will make us tea.” Sherlock told John.

“You will make tea?” John teased.

“I am quite capable to do so.” Sherlock answered, already on the way to the kitchen.

John looked around. The inside of the cottage had quite a resemblance to their old flat in Baker Street. A strange mixture of old and new furniture was cluttered with piles of paper, books and other stuff. The violin was placed on a small table. And he recognized Sherlock’s old chair in one corner and was surprised to see his own old chair next to it. While still looking at all the familiar stuff Sherlock re-entered the living room, carrying a tray. As he sat it down on the coffee table and when he lowered himself to the sofa, John noticed that Sherlock’s movement were slow and careful and that he could barley hide the pain the movements obviously caused.

“You are in pain.” John said, and even though it sounded like it was a statement there was also a hint of a question mark at the end.

“Just a bit.” Sherlock replied, clearly avoiding to look into John’s eyes.

“Still the allodynia?” John asked, not quite sure if Sherlock would be willing to talk about this topic. His health had, at least in former times, always been a topic that he would have just rejected with a shrug.

“No.” Sherlock replied. “I still experience that every now and then, but no, this is the usual pain.” At hearing the word “usual” John had to flinch, but Sherlock pretended that he didn’t notice and continued. “If it would be the allodynia I would lie down and I would have to take different and more painkillers.”

“More?” John inquired. “That means you already have taken some today?”

Sherlock smirked. “Yes , doctor.” He opened the cuff button on his right sleeved and pushed it up. John recognized a transdermal patch.

„No nicotine patches anymore.“ Sherlock said, smirking.

“What is it?” John inquired.

“Fentanyl.”

“That is quite heavy stuff.” John said slightly startled.

“Well.” Sherlock shrugged.

“It is that bad?” John asked.

Sherlock sighed, a clear sign that he really didn’t want to elaborate this topic. “There is some permanent damage.” He finally said. “Nerve damage, that is.”

John just nodded as he remembered Sherlock’s condition when they had finally found him and then the first few days in hospital.

“And now you live a quite life in the countryside?” John asked as he noticed the unwillingness of Sherlock to elaborate on his health problems any further.

“Sort of.” Sherlock said with an amused snort. “As I needed to get away from London and as I wanted Becky to grow up in a safe environment I thought country life might be a nice change.”

“So no experiments in the kitchen? No body parts in the fridge?” John teased.

“I have an extra room for my experiments.” Sherlock laughed quietly. “But no experiments on body parts anymore, sadly, but there isn’t really a good source anywhere close and if the villagers would find out they would call the police which would probably lead to problems and it would blow up my cover.”

“Your cover. Oh yes. William Scott.” John said.

“Just two of my names.” Sherlock shrugged. “Remember. William Sherlock Scott Holmes. The people here in the village think I am a widower who was badly injured in a car accident and that I lost my wife in afore-said car accident.” A sudden sadness was clearly noticeable in his voice and even more visible on his face.

“You miss her.” John stated.

“Of course, I miss her.”

In that second Becky entered the living room, holding hands with Elizabeth.

“Dad? Lizzy wants to see the bees.” She said, the other girl said nothing, but nodded vividly.

Sherlock smiled. “I will show you the bees. Just let us finish our tea. We will join you outside in a moment.” With that answer the girls once more vanished into the  garden.

“Bees?” John asked.

“Yes, bees.” Sherlock replied baffled. “John, you know I love bees, always wanted to have some.”

John chuckled, remembering the discussions with Sherlock if it would be feasible to keep bees on the roof of Baker Street.

“And what else do you do?” John asked. “I mean, you are clearly not in the crime solving business anymore.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Sherlock answered with a satisfied grin. “I still do cases for Lestrade and for my brother, but only those I can do from here. Lestrade sends everything to Mycroft and he forwards it to me through a secure e-mail. They send me pictures and reports and I give them my deductions. Modern communication tools are quite helpful.”

“I see.” John stated.

There was an awkward moment of silence between the two men.

“John.” Sherlock started.

“Yes.”

“John, I send you the card because.” He stopped for a moment.

“Yes?”

“Because I could need a flat-mate again.” Sherlock said with a soft and quiet voice, gazing at John. “And a doctor.”

“You mean?” John stuttered.

“Yes. I mean I can hardly go to the local doctor. My scars would be the village gossip for months.” Sherlock said, chuckling low. “And you always were a very pleasant flat-mate.”

John just stared at Sherlock. He wasn’t expecting this kind of offer. He had only hoped for an invitation to stay for the weekend.

“And besides, I know you have quitted your job at St. Mary’s in order to have more time for your daughter. And you are currently looking for a new job as well as for a new home. I guess because in your house everything reminds you of her.” Sherlock avoided to say Mary. “So there is actually no reason for you to stay in London. And furthermore, Elizabeth would have a sibling here.” Sherlock’s sight turned to the window. Outside the two girls were running around, laughing and smiling, apparently playing tig. “I know you always wanted at least two kids.”

John was still stunned, by the offer and Sherlock’s argumentation.

“Look at them.” Sherlock carried on while watching his daughter dragging Elizabeth along to the small tree house in the corner of the garden. “Drawn to each other from the first moment they met. Reminds me of a time long ago.”

John knew exactly what Sherlock had in mind. Drawn together from the first moment, that’s what happened to them from the very first day they met.

“But wouldn’t it be strange, in a village like this, two men living together. Besides I need a job.” John stumbled.

“Well, first of all, you would of course need a new name, a cover as well. You are a widower just like me. We will surely find a convincing back story. And as for the job. I am quite sure the old village doctor would be delighted to have some help. And you wouldn’t have to pay rent here. The cottage is mine and I am not exactly poor. Never have been, by the way. I never needed a flatmate for the money.”

John smiled. As usual Sherlock already has thought through everything. Mycroft would surely arrange everything in no time.

“So, what do you think? Do you want to share a flat, well a cottage, with me?” Sherlock asked, his gaze focusing on John again.

“Oh, god, yes.” John answered, smiling broadly.

“Very good. Come on. I show you my bees.” Sherlock smiled and got up slowly.

Very good indeed, John thought.

 

\----------------------------

 

 

Three month later.

 

John had settled down to the life in the cottage with Sherlock. There was this constant déjà vu feeling like he was back in Baker Street. He was buying the groceries, making the tea, forcing Sherlock to eat regularly. Sherlock was playing the violin in the middle of the night, was stuck in experiments all day, got bored and was pouting on his chair in the corner. But it wasn’t Baker Street. Many things were different. There were the two girls who truly adored each other but of course they also bickered a lot. And Sherlock was different, still easily bored, but a little less lively, less energetic. He tried to hide his pain, but when he thought that John wasn’t watching, it was clearly visible. But over-all Sherlock was coping admirable well with this different lifestyle.

Then one day, the girls were having breakfast in the kitchen, John was wondering why Sherlock was so quite. He went to bed early the evening before and usually attended the breakfast with the girls, even when he didn’t eat something himself. So John went up to Sherlock’s bedroom. He knocked and went in. He saw Sherlock lying on his side, curled to ball, eyes closed, his breathing shallow, but even. No duvet was covering his body and he was only dressed in his silky pajamas trousers. His pale torso uncovered. He was shivering in the cold bedroom.

“You will catch your death.” John exclaimed, grabbing the duvet, just about to throw it over the shivering body.

“Don’t.” Sherlock said weakly, clearly in pain.

John realized instantly what was wrong. “Allodynia? How bad on a scale of  1 to 10?”

“Nine.” Sherlock replied quietly, opening his eyes a bit.

“Have you taken something?” John asked, kneeling down beside his friend.

Sherlock nodded, with his eyes gesturing to the bed stand. John followed his sight and saw the open bottle with the oral morphine solution. He nodded.

“Does it help?” John asked.

“A bit. Takes of the edges.”

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

“No.” Sherlock said. “The first hours are the worst. It will ebb away over the day.”

“How long will it last?”

“Anything between a day and a week.”

John sighed.

“Just take care of the girls. I will be fine.” Sherlock said, trying to smile.

“Okay.” John said. He wanted to hold Sherlock’s hand, but he knew that that would only cause his friend more pain. “But you are freezing. I will turn on the heating. And if you feel able to move you should come down to the living room. I will light the fireplace.”

Sherlock nodded, closing his eyes again.

 

 

 ---------------------

 

Three days later Sherlock was nearly well again. He was still very quiet and moved more careful than he usually would do. The girls were already asleep in their beds. John was reading a book on the sofa near the fireplace when Sherlock came in and walked up to the sofa and placed himself close to John.

“Thank you.” Sherlock said softly.

John turned his face to his friend. A thank from Sherlock had always been a rarity.

“You are welcomed. But for what?” John said smiling.

Sherlock smirked. “For being here. For being there for me the last days. For taking care of the girls.”

“How have you coped with it before?” John inquired.

“I would have called the community nurse.” Sherlock grunted. “She would help me with Becky. But she was strenuous. She always made a big fuss about everything.”

John chuckled, imagine the friendly older community nurse bustling around a grumpy Sherlock and how his friend would roll his eyes about all that unwanted attention to his body, his failing transport.

Sherlock moved closer, bringing his face closer to John’s, his hand moving to John’s cheek. And then he kissed him, gentle and a bit chaste. John was so surprised that he just froze and didn’t react at all. Sherlock leaned back a little bit.

“Sorry.” Sherlock said with a sadness in his voice, biting his lower lip.

“Don’t be sorry.” John stuttered, leaning towards Sherlock kissing him, not gentle but with more passion, his hands in those soft dark curls. They kissed until they were forced to draw apart in order to breath.

“It’s been a long time” John said, grinning.

“Yes.” Sherlock agreed. “Six years, one month, nine days and about two hours.”

“You have counted the days and hours?” John asked baffled. He remembered vividly the day Sherlock kissed him the first and last time, after a wild chase through London as they stood panting in the hallway of 221 Baker Street. It was the night before Moriarty broke into the Tower and turned their world upside down. They never talked about it, never defined what it meant for their friendship or if there was the possibility of a relationship, because Sherlock jumped of that damn roof and when he came back everything was so different.

“Yes.” Sherlock started plainly, pulling John out of his thought.

“But you” John started, pausing a moment. “You had Molly.”

“Yes.” Sherlock said softly. “And I loved her, I truly loved her. She was there for me. She always mattered. And after” He paused a moment. “After I faked my suicide and in the years that followed she was my anchor and.”

“And after I failed you when you returned.” John added sadly.

Sherlock gazed at him kindly.

“I failed you before.” Sherlock said. “Moriarty wanted to burn my heart and although he was dead and although I was able to destroy his criminal web, in the end he succeeded, because he knew we cared for each other. We couldn’t win, John.”

John pondered on those words and looked at his friend. “But we are alive. We survived all this.”

“Yes.” Sherlock smiled. “We survived and we are here together.” He paused again. “Don’t get me wrong. I would do everything to have Molly alive with me, for her to see her child grow up. And  I would do everything to see you happy with the mother of your daughter. But both is impossible. Things turned out differently. When Molly and I got together I was very well aware that I would put her at risk. But I thought that with my non-public job and Moriarty’s network a thing of the past, I had hoped that it would work out. I was wrong.”

John nodded. Thinking about Mary still hurt, the betrayal, her mocking laugh. He shook his head to get rid of those thoughts.

“The only reality is this. We are here, alive, with our two girls.” Sherlock continued.

The two men sat in silence for several minutes, watching the fire burning down slowly. It was Sherlock who moved closer again. He kissed John. It was a soft kiss, longing and with a hint of passion. Then he rested his head on John’s shoulder and slowly drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

Things turned out differently indeed, John thought. And it couldn’t be an accident. The universe is rarely so lazy. John smiled.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the end of my second fan fic. I hope you enjoyed it.   
> Comments are of course welcomed.  
> That is the end of this small, two part series.


End file.
